


I Scream Too Much, Don't I?

by MUNASHIKU



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUNASHIKU/pseuds/MUNASHIKU
Summary: Tarn would prefer Pharma to be vocal.
Relationships: Pharma/Tarn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	I Scream Too Much, Don't I?

**Author's Note:**

> Was sitting here minding my own business when this idea suddenly popped into my head. I just wanted someone to be doing surgery while interfacing.

This was nearly the fourth overload in a row. Pharma had never seen the tank so ravenous. Aerials were notorious for their stamina, but with Tarn’s quadruple-distilled high grade—a luxury afforded by tower mech in the golden age—it was hard to match when Pharma relied on standard grade to medical grade energon rations in Delphi. Tarn occasionally let him sample from his collection, and yes, tonight was one of those occasions. If Pharma wasn’t in the middle of an overload, he might have thought Tarn was up to something.

It started with field manipulation. It wasn’t a common practice to get someone to overload by field alone; it was quite difficult, actually, and quite a few medical authors had documented methods that might increase one’s success rate in doing so. Tarn, manipulator with voice alone, seemed to have found time to practice this—had he read those documents in the past? A brutish tank such as himself? But one minute Pharma was enjoying a sip of Tarn’s vintage energon, and the next moment his charge was through the roof and he was practically crawling on the tank for contact.

He _had_ finished his drink before overloading. He didn’t think Tarn would be especially pleased if he’d wasted such rare liquids, but his ability for composure while aroused to all hell piqued Tarn’s curiosity. Rather than set the drink aside, he’d continued to sip at it while Tarn bent the flier’s field to his will, caressing and coaxing it to mingle in his intoxicating field.

Tarn had pushed it to the back of his mind for now, now pleasantly aroused with a freshly overloaded jet lying underneath him.

The second overload was brought by the tank’s fingers. His fingers danced along the reds and whites of the lightweight metal. On the surface, Cybertronian armour wasn’t very sensitive—for most mechs, at least. There was a common misconception that flier wings were sensitive, but the first time Tarn had handled them during passion disproved that rumour, to his disappointment. Pharma had laughed in his face when his body language spoke of disappointment, boasting that flier wings needed to withstand the abuse of flying, and to have them be so delicate would make such a feat quite difficult.

Medic hands, on the other hand… Well, that rumour wasn’t as well known. Tarn himself didn’t know of the sensitivity of medic hands until he’d caught Pharma in the act. Pharma, ever unawares as he sat in his quarters in Delphi, hands sliding up and down those white inner thighs, tapping contemplatively upon his codpiece before those hands decided to play with themselves than with their owners.

Those lithe, skilled fingers had danced with each other, pinching in between small and delicate seams, before eventually Pharma took a finger and put it in his mouth. Tarn, watching from a monitoring device Vos had put into this room among several other rooms, was perplexed when Pharma seemed to build a charge from this action alone. When he’d first seen it, he’d assumed Pharma merely had a hand fetish.

Well, that’s not to say it _wasn’t_ true, given how obsessively the medic seemed to be about his hands— _forged_ hands of a medic being rare or whatever. He took very good care of those hands, and every other medic, as Pharma recalled, seemed to have their hands on the higher priority list than other class types.

Now, Tarn lavished medic’s blue hands with extra attention, a light massage delivered from brutish hands, Pharma could not have anticipated. The tank’s fingers had been dipping into his seams, stimulating electricity with his touches and causing his body to arch and jump like a puppet on strings. Now they were playing with his hands. Such a gentle act that would look silly to anyone who didn’t know about that silly little rumour…

Tarn refused to take off his mask, but oh how Pharma wished that Tarn would claim those fingers with his mouth. If Tarn was as proficient with his tongue as he was using it with words… Pharma could overload from the thought alone.

Which he did. That was a pleasant overload.

The third overload was traditional spike in valve. This was the method Pharma was most familiar with, as it was a favourite not only of Tarn’s, but of the mechs he’d bedded while pursuing an education. Despite the frequent usage, the calipers of his valve had reset over the years, and when Tarn had taken his valve for the first time, it was quite a tight and unpleasant fit. He hadn’t been aroused at the time—bedding a grounder, a _Decepticon_ tank who wanted to kill him, didn’t seem like the kind of partner he wanted to dance with. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been well-fueled due to the DJD’s harassment of incoming Autobot suppliers, either. Without proper fueling, a mech couldn’t lubricate as well down there.

Over time, he’d wearily come to accept his role in the sick game Primus called ‘life’. Why think of the misery and suffer if you could forget what happy used to mean?

Bing and bang, hips to hips they fragged, and the doctor was very vocal during that round. He couldn’t help it. That overload left him thoroughly drained, and ready for a good nap. If Pharma hadn’t taken Tarn’s high-quality energon, he might have been finished by round two.

A great way to end a night of passionate fragging. Or so Pharma thought.

Tarn had pulled out of Pharma and opened up a panel from his torso, spooling thick cords with prominent jacks from within. Pharma complained that he was too tired to move, and Tarn noted that this method did not require either party to move much at all.

Pharma wasn’t a fan of plug and play due to the fact that if one’s firewalls weren’t strong enough, another mech could break through and see what a mech didn’t want anyone to see. There were even greater security risks than that that made him shudder. Tarn had coaxed him over time to accept and appreciate plug and play, for it was _his_ favourite method, second only to spark play.

Pharma allowed the panels on his hips to slide away to reveal those small ports ready to receive another bot’s jack. He wasn’t sure he could stay awake for this…

Fourth overload incoming. That was what caused his vocalizer to give out.

Tarn may have been good in physical fragging, but he was positively overwhelming when it came to data transfer. Pharma had asked just how Tarn had gotten to know the techniques that the tank used when interfacing, and Tarn admitted that he was a fan of Soundwave, and had picked up a few tactics when studying his methods.

Damn the Decepticons for using evil for pleasure. It was so good.

Pharma could provide a response to their uplink, having millions of years of medical data to provide packet stimulation, but Tarn’s sheer experience in life provided a much less clean ride, full of simulated emotion, whereas Pharma’s data was more clinical and to the point. It was meant to take you straight to climax without bends in the road—something Tarn favoured heavily when synced. His data was overwhelming for Pharma, and it made itself clear when Pharma’s vocalizer popped and went silent in the middle of a pleasured scream.

“Oh dear,” the purple mech said, red eyes glowing brighter in interest when all he heard was static from the jet. He stroked a thumb over that stretched neck, tenderly as Pharma’s body quivered with tension. He tiredly gripped at Tarn’s arms despite the claim that he couldn’t move, electricity jumping across his frame. The Decepticon observed as that face of lust began to contort into confusion and then frustration when Tarn began to hold back on how much info and charge he was sending over the connection. “It appears something within you has broken, Doctor.”

Pharma attempted in vain to reset his vocalizer, to complain to Tarn or to beg for him to continue, he didn’t know. But each _click_ resulted in failure.

“You know how much I love to hear you scream, my dear Doctor,” he purred, petting the Autobot’s pretty face, grinning behind his mask as he felt that small body grind against him in frustration. “I’m disappointed that an Autobot medic’s hardware isn’t up to par with our activities. Then again, it was being used for its intended purpose.”

He chuckled darkly. “Fix it.”

Pharma rolled his optics and fervently sent more data over their connection, implanting irritation and frustration more than charge, to let Tarn know how he felt. Tarn ignored it. “I don’t like playing with broken pets.”

The medic had a look on his face that screamed “Right now?!” and Tarn’s unwavering position forced him to droop his shoulders.

It was a simple fix, yes. He’d merely blown out a simple circuit from too much energy and usage all at once. It could have repaired on its own, but it would have taken much longer than Tarn would be satisfied with. Unfortunately, it was in a location that was not accessible on surface level. He would have to perform a surgery.

He hastily pulled out the single item needed and his hands shifted into the required tools. He felt a bit guilty for using a sensor dampener on himself for a much unneeded surgery, but he’d rather not be writhing in pain right now. He wanted pleasure.

He worked under the Decepticon’s watchful optics. Pharma’s cabling moved as far as it could go by himself before he had to make the first incision in the metal. His hands-turned-tools held the slightest of trembling. It couldn’t be helped; he’d been on the brink of overload and one malfunction halted it all. It didn’t help that Tarn was now lazily pulsing data through their cable, causing him to maintain a now uncomfortable level of charge.

Pull the metal apart, and it would expose the voice box…

“ _Hmmm_ ,” Tarn hummed, and thank Primus for medical overrides that allowed his hands to freeze up before the shudder of unexpected pleasure ran through Pharma’s body. It prevented him from nicking a vital energon line that ran parallel to where his voice box was located.

Pharma wished he could spit even static out at Tarn for his unhelpfulness, but he had to disable his voice box in order to replace parts safely.

“ _I wonder how many times you had to do this,_ ” Tarn talked, pushing the power of his Voice to harmonize with Pharma’s spark’s frequency, to begin playing it like the instruments he enjoyed listening to.

‘This’? What was Tarn referring to? Fixing a voxbox? Fixing himself? Primus forbid, fragging while doing surgery?!

Tarn was a fan of spark play, yet he’d never let Pharma near his spark. Thusly, Pharma never let Tarn near his spark. No matter the bullying or torment Tarn threatened, Pharma’s spark was one thing the Decepticon could never have.

Pharma stared at the Decepticon insignia of a mask.

Tarn’s spark play was completely indulgent on the other party’s spark. The leader of the Decepticon Justice Division, known for killing mechs with just his voice. How many years did he spend refining the control of that outlier power? How many mechs did he kill in order to do it?

His body arched up against his control, his spark a slave to Tarn’s power. It pulled pleasure of immense proportion that couldn’t compare to any other type of copulation. His mouth opened in a silent moan that would speak differently from his mind’s silent wish for Tarn to stop so that the medic could be done with this operation.

One piece removed, now all he had to do was implant the new one…

The rises and falls of that deep, dulcet voice, his hands trembled and stilled over and over as medical coding constantly overrode jerky movements that would have resulted from an impending overload. He grit his teeth together, glaring with blurry vision at the purple tank who was doing everything in his power to hinder his progress.

Pharma’s reciprocal upload had trickled to a crawl due to being focused on his procedure, but as he got closer to finishing, more certain of his work, he started sending what he was experiencing into the cables hooked into Tarn. If the bot wouldn’t let him work in peace, then he’d at least get a taste of his own medicine.

Tarn stiffened and his speaking halted, sounding choked as he was hit with the direct effects of his Voice upon Pharma’s spark. He had never used his Voice on himself, only witness to the visual results of victims trying to tear their own spark out from the pain, or Pharma writhing like a wanton whore in his berth. To be able to experience it…

The piece was in place. Pharma—hands locked, wait for the override to settle—closed the incision with healing nanites which would repair the cut completely by the end of the night.

Tarn’s moans were low and warbly, infected with his Voice that struck Pharma straight to the core. It rebounded from Pharma right back into Tarn via link and Tarn gripped onto Pharma like a lifeline, overcome by the melody he was stringing in Pharma’s spark.

Pharma’s optics were overblown with light, finally able lose focus and concentration now that his operation was complete. Medical coding now in the background, his hands returned to normal and gripped at the tank’s dirty treads.

“ _Pharma_ ,” he moaned pitifully, leaning into Pharma and burying his facemask into the jet’s neck.

It was too much for Pharma. His body told him to express it like he always did. No more codes overriding, his voice box came online with a tiny _chirp_. Clear of static, the cleanest little mewl of Tarn’s name was born from his throat.

So unlike the normal loud and noisy utterances of the Autobot, so small and clean, Tarn reached his overload. This looped into Pharma and took him to the same climax.

He did let the medical override do its thing to prevent his vocalizer from maxing out the decibel limit, making a note to keep this on in the future, lest Tarn desire to have another impromptu repair before his optics.

He was definitely going to enjoy future plug and play sessions if it meant seeing how Tarn could bend under his own Voice.


End file.
